Electing to go on rather than waste any more time, leaving to chance the actual amount of time the residual power stored in the cells would give them, he concentrated on conserving what was there by running the engine on low and choosing the flattest route available. If the engine died, he would have to make a choice about what to do next. He was hoping he would not have to face that choice.
“Any idea where we are?” Simralin asked after a long silence between them.
“Some. We’re not too far from the north–south branch of the Columbia River. The caravan has to cross there, probably at one of the dams or a bridge, if there’s still one in place.”
“Unless they’ve changed direction,” she pointed out.
“I don’t think that’s going to happen. I think they’re headed for the mountains.” He pointed east across the flats. “You can’t see them from here, but they’re out there, over the horizon. I crossed them coming west weeks ago.”
“I know those mountains,” she said.
He nodded. “Well, somewhere in there is where we’ll find this safehold Hawk is searching for. That’s my opinion, anyway.”
As if in response, the Ventra engine coughed and died, the vehicle lurched, and they rolled to a stop. Logan sat staring at the controls, as if an answer might present itself amid the vast array of colored lights and blinking switches.
“What’s your opinion about that?” Simralin asked archly.
Without answering, he adjusted a few of the switches and dials, made several concerted efforts to restart the engine, and finally sat back. “My opinion is she’s finished. Either I go to work on the wiring or we walk.”
“Which will take longer?”
He glanced over. “Hard to say.”
“Then let’s walk.”
He nodded. “At least we’ll be moving.”
They loaded up on food and water, sleeping gear and weapons, and set out. The day was warm and still, but not unreasonably so, and travel even at midday was pleasant enough. Logan hated leaving the big AV, a machine that up until now had provided both reliable transportation and protection. But he had known all along that he would probably have to abandon it at some point. What mattered just now was catching up to the caravan and reuniting with Hawk, the boy he was supposed to be protecting.
He grimaced inwardly. Not that he had done much of a job of it so far. He had failed to prevent Hawk from being thrown from the walls of the compound in Seattle, and it was the boy who had saved his life while he lay unconscious following his battle with the rogue Knight of the Word. Immediately afterward, Logan had been dispatched by the Lady to find the Elves and bring Kirisin Belloruus to safety, which once again had separated him from Hawk. Reaching the caravan and finding the boy anew, he had elected to stay behind to help defend the bridge against the demon army, and again they had become separated.
After all the emphasis placed by Two Bears and the Lady on the importance of finding and protecting the gypsy morph, he had expected to expend considerable effort doing so. But when you took the measure of the thing, he had done hardly anything at all. It disturbed him to admit this more than he cared to think about. He did not like it that the charge he had accepted had come to so little. Finding the boy had not been difficult; protecting him had been all but impossible.
It wasn’t his place to question the things he was asked to do as a Knight of the Word. It wasn’t given to him to judge. But he did so anyway. He always had. It was what had led him to this place and time. When offered the chance to do so, he had abandoned his life as a destroyer of the slave camps and their demon masters, worn down by the struggle, weary of the fight, eager to travel a new road. Searching out the gypsy morph was the price of the bargain. Find the morph and protect it, O’olish Amaneh had asked of him. Do this, and you will have your chance to face that old man who killed your family, the Lady had promised.
He had agreed in a heartbeat.
But why had they even bothered asking him? What was it that they expected him to do when for virtually the entire time since he had found the morph they had been separated?
There were no answers to be found, and no point in thinking on it further. He kicked at the earth with one boot, a pointed response to his frustration, and let the matter drop. One day, somewhere down the road, he might better understand what he was doing in this business, what his role was really supposed to be. For now, he would have to accept on faith that he had a purpose to fulfill, whether he saw it clearly or not.
They had walked less than ten miles when Simralin said, “Do you hear something?”
He stopped and listened. “Weapons fire, shouting. There’s a battle being fought, just ahead.”